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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23957872">a shadow and a thought</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacedadpicard/pseuds/spacedadpicard'>spacedadpicard</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy X</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Auron Gets It but doesn't know how to help, Fluff, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Pining, Reader is sad and worried for Yuna, The first chapter is kinda fluffy but it's all downhill from here, Unhappy Ending, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Yearning</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:28:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,010</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23957872</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacedadpicard/pseuds/spacedadpicard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"He settles next to you, but you find that you can’t feel the heat of his body. It’s like he’s a cold spot next to you, a chill in the air where the warmth of his skin should be buzzing."</p><p>-</p><p>In retrospect, it all makes sense: the Unsent don't make for wonderful lovers.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Auron/Original Character(s), Auron/Reader, Tidus/Yuna (Mentioned)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>a shadow and a thought</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>    It’s cold on Mount Gagazet. </p><p>    You’ve never known anything like it: bone-deep and aching, there when you fall asleep at night and when you wake up in the morning; when you stop to break bread and when you stop to make water; even when scaling the mountain, fingers stiff with frost, muscles seizing with every inch you climb. You come to appreciate the heat of battle: that familiar rush of adrenaline, the blood pumping in your veins at the first sight of fiend tracks in the snow. It’s something, at least. For a little while, your body can remember that it’s still alive.</p><p>    The cold isn’t the only thing that makes the journey hard. You keep thinking of Zanarkand. Not Spira’s Zanarkand; not the ruined buildings and the rubble, not the pools of muddy water, the pyreflies hanging in the air. But instead, Tidus’ Zanarkand. <em> A Zanarkand that never sleeps. </em> Even if you’ve never seen it, you can almost picture it when you close your eyes: a thousand whirling lights glimmering in the water, the skyline shimmering against the night sky.</p><p>    You keep thinking of Zanarkand. You keep thinking of Yuna, pale face wet with tears. <em> He told me we could go there, you know? He told me I’d like the sunset. And I don’t know how to tell him I can’t, don’t know how to explain, or make him see, or—  </em></p><p>    You keep thinking of Yuna. Of all the places she’ll never see, all the sunsets she’ll never have, the lights of Zanarkand nothing more than a dream. </p><p>    The closer you get to the summit, the harder it is to keep going. </p><p>    Night draws in, and you take first watch: you can’t sleep anyway, you tell Yuna—a half-truth. It’s less that you can’t, and more that you don’t want to. After all, the sooner you fall asleep, the sooner the sun will rise, the sooner you’ll all continue on again to Zanarkand.</p><p>    To Zanarkand— </p><p>    “You should sleep.”</p><p>    Just like that, you come back to yourself, breaking from thought. Looking up, you see Auron’s glasses catching the firelight, glinting as he peers down at you. You can’t see his eye, but you wish you could. You wish you knew what was in it.</p><p>    “Yeah, well, you’re not invincible yourself, y’know.” Rubbing your hands together, you turn towards the fire, trying to warm yourself by it. The heat can’t reach you through the cold. “You should be asleep, too.”</p><p>    He laughs, gruff and amused. Your brows draw together; you weren’t cracking a joke.</p><p>    “I find I don’t need much sleep these days.” </p><p>    “Well.” You don’t know what to say to that. After a moment, you look away from him, down at your snow-flecked boots. “Neither do I. Look, I said I’d take the first watch, alright? At least go lie down. Can’t have you slowing us down on the road tomorrow, old timer.”</p><p>    That, you hope, will be the end of it. Though you know better. Auron is headstrong at best, flat-out obstinate at worst. He’ll click his tongue, and frown, and scold, and just like that you’ll be sent off to your bedroll like some naughty school child. You wait for it—the scoff; the snort; the crossing of his arms over his chest—but… </p><p>    To your surprise, he just sits by you instead.</p><p>    For a long while, he doesn’t say anything. He merely joins you in watching the fire: the wood charring and crackling, the sparks rising on the air, up and up and up into the sky. You wonder if the lights in Zanarkand are like that: orange, smouldering motes. If Zanarkand were still alive now—if it were still awake, still thrumming with voices and laughter—would you be able to see its light from this side of the mountain? And what would the city look like from the summit? When your party finally reached the top, shoes worn through and legs aching, how far out would the lights of the city reach, and where would they stop?</p><p>    “Tomorrow we set upon the final leg of our journey.” Sometimes you swear it’s as if Auron can read your mind. Turning your head, you look at him from out of the corner of your eye, but still he looks ahead. “The final stretch to Zanarkand.”</p><p>    A pause. You wait for a while, for words that never come. With nothing else to say, you nod. “Yeah.”</p><p>    “You should rest,” he insists again. And now, he <em> does </em> look at you—through you, eye burning a hole straight through your skull to peer out over the valley below. “The journey will not be without its trials. And—”</p><p>    “I’m <em> fine</em>. Really. Never been better.”</p><p>    It occurs to you, then, that this is perhaps the closest you’ve ever been to him. Auron isn’t one for standing still, not even at the best of times. This is the first time in recent memory that he’s just—stopped. Allowed himself to quiet for a while.</p><p>    He settles next to you, but you find that you can’t feel the heat of his body. It’s like he’s a cold spot next to you, a chill in the air where the warmth of his skin should be buzzing.</p><p>    “Very well,” he says finally. “I see you’ve made up your mind.” Without another word he makes to push himself to his feet. Before he can, however, you reach out, fingers curling in the stiff, cold fabric of his haori. That gives him pause, and he looks at you now with brows raised. His glasses have slipped down his nose, you note, and you find curiosity in his sharp, amber eye—and something between concern and amusement.</p><p>    “I—sorry.” Quickly letting go, you fold your hands in your lap, tucking them between your thighs in an attempt to warm them, to coax some feeling back into their numb, freezing tips. “I was just going to say—you don’t have to go. You can if you want, but—you don’t sleep much, either. So if you’re just going to go lie in your bed roll and stare up at the stars until morning rolls around, then…” </p><p>    You pause. Swallow to wet your scratchy throat, searching for the words. “We might as well keep each other company. Right?”</p><p>    After a beat of silence, he chuckles again, and you can feel your cheeks warm. You hate it when he laughs at you. For whatever reason, though, you can never quite bring yourself to tell him.</p><p>    “If that’s what you want.” </p><p>    With that, he settles down again. You’re quietly relieved; you don’t cherish the idea of being alone with your thoughts right now, not when, with every blink of your eyes, you find yourself conjuring Zanarkand. Not when it’s so easy to picture Yuna strolling along the wharf, her smiling face illuminated by glowing lights of pink, and green, and yellow. Not when— </p><p>    Well. Not when you’re doing precisely this: spiralling. It’s a talent of yours; you’ve honed it over the years, and this journey has provided ample opportunity for practice.</p><p>    “It’s weird, isn’t it?” You’re hesitant to break the silence. But Auron has never been much of a talker. And you can’t just <em> sit </em> here, pretending everything is fine. “We’ve come all this way, and now Zanarkand is less than a day away.” Craning your neck, you look up at the mountain—pale, gleaming rock covered in sheets of powdery, white snow. Up and up your gaze travels, until it meets where the summit punctures the sky, teetering high above the camp. You can almost picture it: a gauzy halo of light painting the sky behind. And there, caught between the whistling of the wind: cheers and hoots from the Zanarkand Stadium.</p><p>    “Perhaps for you it <em> does </em>seem strange.” Reaching up, Auron slips off his glasses, rubbing at his eye with a gloved hand. In the firelight, you can just about make out the indentations left behind on the sides of his nose. “Perhaps even for some of the others.” You watch as he cleans his glasses on the inside of his sleeve, eyes dropping to follow the movements of his hands. “But I have been imagining this journey for years now. Every mountain, every road. Every step.” For a moment, he’s quiet. You let the silence hang; as far as you can recall, this is the most you’ve heard him speak in one go. “Very little has changed these past ten years. When I came here with Braska and Jecht, the road was much the same.”</p><p>    Your gaze flickers back up to his face—the stubble on his cheeks, the indentations on his nose, the scar scoring his eye and cheek. And then, the fire pops, and you look away again, face warm.</p><p>    “I don’t understand,” you finally say, “how you can… do all of this all over again. Before I joined—before I became a Guardian, I thought…—I suppose I thought it would be fun. An adventure. You know? But you… knowing what you know—”</p><p>    “I made promises,” he cuts in. “Promises I intend to keep. And besides—this is Yuna’s story. Her chosen path. I am honoured she would have my help.”</p><p>    “And so am I. I’m not, y’know, <em> not </em> honoured. It’s just, I don’t know if I can simply stand by and watch her… do this.”</p><p>    “It is not your decision to make,” he reminds you, shaking his head. You feel a prick of irritation in your stomach, white hot to the touch. You know that already; does he think you a fool?</p><p>    “I know that. I know. It’s just that—she’s so young. There’s so much left for her to see—so much for her to be, and to do. And yet she’d happily throw it all away for Spira. For a people who no longer trust her, no longer love her. I suppose I just hope that all this really <em> is </em> what she wants, and isn’t just what she feels she must do. She doesn’t <em> have </em> to be her father, you know? She has never had to be.”</p><p>    “It’s her decision,” Auron counters. In that moment, you hate him: why does he always have to be so infuriatingly right? “She is old enough to know her mind.”</p><p>    “Is she?” Turning, you arch your brows at him. “Did you know <em> your </em> mind at seventeen, Sir Auron?”</p><p>    At that, his lips twitch; it’s almost a smile. “Perhaps not. I’m not sure I even knew my mind at twenty-seven.” The smile falters, before disappearing entirely, dissipating as quickly as it arrived. If you didn’t know better, you’d swear you catch a fleeting shadow cross his features, a strange look glinting in his eye. As if aware of your gaze, he reaches up, slipping his glasses back on. “But we must trust her.”</p><p>    He’s stubborn. Obstinate. You won’t get anywhere fast with this line of discourse, and you know it. So, finally, you fall silent. </p><p>    At least, for a while.</p><p>    “It just makes me sad.” Yuna is asleep somewhere behind you, dead to the world; you can’t bring yourself to turn and look. “It’s not fair.”</p><p>    “No one claimed that it was.”</p><p>    At that, he shifts a little, removing his jug from his hip. One twist of the cork, two, and the thing comes free with a <em> pop.</em> To your surprise, he holds it out to you; to your greater surprise, you find yourself accepting the offer. You can’t place the drink, but it’s strong enough that your throat burns and your eyes water, a surprised, wheezy little cough escaping you.</p><p>    “I, er—ahem, thanks.” A pause. Against your better judgment, you take another sip, telling yourself it has nothing to do with impressing him. “Oh—oh, no. That wasn’t any better the second time around. Thanks, though. Really.”</p><p>    He chuckles then, scratchy and low, uncharacteristically gentle. Despite everything—despite Yuna; despite Zanarkand; despite the cold biting your cheeks—you smile in return.</p><p>    It takes you a moment to remember that you hate it when he laughs at you.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi there! Hope you enjoyed reading the first installment of this lil fic of mine. Do leave a comment if you feel so inclined. I really appreciate them.</p><p>What with the whole world being in lockdown right now, I'm not exactly overwhelmingly busy, so hopefully I'll get the next two chapters out relatively quickly!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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